While Rose-buds Scarcely Show'd Their Hue, But

The Dove, On Silver Pinions, Winged Her Peaceful Way.

Eagle Of Flowers! I See Thee Stand, And On The Sun's Noon-glory Gaze; With Eye Like His, Thy Lids Expand, And Fringe Their Disk With Golden Rays: Though Fix'd On Earth, In Darkness Rooted There, Light Is Thy Element, Thy Dwelling Air, Thy Prospect Heaven.

When Evening Closes Nature's Eye, The Glow-worm Lights Her Little Spark To Captivate Her Favorite Fly And Tempt The Rover Through The Dark.

Songs Of Praise The Angels Sang, Heav'n With Alleluias Rang, When Creation Was Begun, When God Spoke And It Was Done.

There Is A Calm For Those Who Weep, A Rest For Weary Pilgrims Found, They Softly Lie And Sweetly Sleep Low In The Ground.